


Fear of Flying

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [26]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:24:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis is so happy it scares him to death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Aramis is humming to himself. He's finishing a hem on a pant-suit for one of Constance's favourite clients, and although the soft, floaty fabric is rather difficult to work with, the knowledge how awesome the result is going to look makes it absolutely worth it. Aramis has seen Constance's sketches after all. This pant-suit might just be the most amazing piece of practical clothing she's ever come up with. It has pockets. 

Aramis is gnawing on his lip in concentration, doesn't even notice he's severely maiming John Paul Young's _Love is in the Air_ under his breath. It's warm in the shop, but far from stuffy or overheated, for Constance is of the opinion that it's bad business to give customers coming in from the street a heatstroke. So Aramis is wearing his favourite cardigan – he stole it from Porthos – to keep his back warm, and has put the thermos with Athos' coffee on the shelf above his head to keep it out of harm's way. Or rather to keep himself out of harm's way. 

Constance has Opinions about beverages on the work table. Very Strong Opinions. 

Not that Aramis can blame her. He can be such a klutz. He sighs and finishes another seam – by hand of course – vaguely smiling to himself, still humming out of tune. 

On her side of the room, Constance looks up from her design table. "Ok, out with it – what happened?" 

Aramis nearly pricks himself with the needle. "What happened?" he echoes, a confused lilt to the words. 

"You have been disgustingly happy for the last week," Constance explains, "and I have been waiting patiently for you to come out with it and tell me _why_." 

A nervous flush breaks out on Aramis' face. "Am I not allowed to be happy?" he asks, can barely refrain from adding "You've met Athos and Porthos, haven't you?" 

"You are," Constance admits, her brows pulling together. "Why are you evading the question?" 

She knows him too well, Aramis realizes. He also realizes that he doesn't want to tell her. What he doesn't realize is _why_. Constance is his friend. His best friend. Not only does she deserve to know, he also doesn't think she'll judge them. Still. He doesn't want to tell her. He hasn't told anyone yet. Not actively. 

Everyone in the orphanage knows, obviously, and he thinks that Athos has called his parents, too, but Aramis - He hasn't told _anyone_. 

"You're looking sick," Constance suddenly says, sounding worried. "Are you feeling sick? Do I need to get a bucket? Please don't barf on that fabric, it was so ridiculously expensive!" 

"I'm not going to be sick," Aramis hears himself say, although the lump that has descended into his stomach feels rather determined. "I'm fine." 

"Liar," Constance huffs, and advances. 

Aramis doesn't know what to expect. It certainly is not for her to turn him around on his swivel chair and pull him in so his head is resting against her bosom and pet his head. He's almost too surprised to enjoy it. Almost. 

"There," Constance murmurs, her fingers combing through his hair, "that's better, isn't it?" 

Aramis closes his eyes. He really needs to tell her. "Athos and Porthos are kissing now." 

There's the slightest hitch in her breathing, and then Constance clears her throat. "That's … great?" 

"It is," Aramis confirms. 

"I mean it always was the _three_ of you, right from the beginning, wasn't it?" she hazards, the brightness in her voice sounding a bit brittle. "From the way you were talking about them I figured they were a two for the price of one boyfriend-package anyway." 

Aramis relaxes a little. She's right. Nevertheless, the knot in his stomach is still there. 

 

Athos and Porthos are on the couch together when Aramis gets home. Athos is on the one end, reading Pratchett, and Porthos is on the other, Athos' feet in his lap, reading … Pratchett. Aramis very nearly starts to cry at the sight of them. They are so _perfect_ , and he loves them so much, and he knows, he just _knows_ that he's going to fuck this up. That's why he didn't tell Constance. Why he didn't tell anyone. Because when this ends, and they ask him why, he doesn't want to have to explain that he ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. 

He was already so very happy with Porthos, being Athos' _friend_ , and now that Athos and Porthos are – now that they _kiss_ – now that Athos - It's going to hurt so much more, is the thing. He really should make the most of it while he still can. 

Aramis takes a deep breath and stalks over to the sofa, to greet Porthos with a kiss and blink at Athos to find out if he wants one, too. Athos does. He also asks Aramis about his day. 

"Oh, it was good," Aramis prevaricates. "The fabric for that pant-suit finally came in and I could start working on it. Constance was very pleased." 

The following silence is a little strained, but maybe Aramis is imagining that. He always tends to look at life through the lens of his heart, and that's a bit fractured at the moment. No clear picture available, even when the colours are mostly right. 

"I'm glad you got to work with that fancy new fabric you wanted," Porthos says eventually, putting his hand around Aramis' wrist to pull him into his lap. Athos promptly removes his feet from the area, and Aramis comes easily, because he always does; and being close to Porthos is always so warm and comfortable that it can only help his present condition. At least Aramis hopes so. Being clingy certainly never paid off for him in the past. Christ. He really should stop thinking about that. If only he knew how. 

If only he knew how to have a relationship that _works_. 

"Would you like some coffee?" Athos asks him, voice smooth and soft, and when Aramis nods he puts his book on the coffee table and gets up – leans in to brush a kiss to Aramis' temple in passing. "Cookies too?" 

"Yes," Aramis mumbles, leaning his head against Porthos' shoulder, closing his eyes. "Thank you." 

He doesn't understand how one can be so happy and so very miserable at the same time. Most of it is fear; he recognizes that at least. But the fact of the matter is that he doesn't have any reason to be frightened. He knows the signs, after all, and Athos and Porthos are exhibiting none of them. Yet. Nor have the people they've told reacted in any way even remotely negative. They're happy for them. They don't consider this relationship weird or wrong or doomed, just because it contains more than two people. 

They should though, a little thorn in Aramis' heart whispers. Not because there's three people in this relationship; no, that's not it. Because Aramis is one of the three, that's why.


	2. Chapter 2

A few days pass, one right after the other, as they're supposed to. Nothing happens. Well, that's not quite accurate. A lot happens, very many things even, only none that could be labelled _bad_ , or _defining_. Athos and Porthos continue to be sweet and caring, and Aramis continues to love them with all of his heart, fractured as it is. So. Nothing happens. 

Nothing changes, apart from the weather. 

Maybe Aramis gets a little better at acting like everything is fine. He doesn't know. He would like to imagine that he does. Because he certainly isn't fine, and he doesn't want Athos and Porthos to know. He'd never realized how long he's been with Porthos already – and for all intents and purposes Athos, too. He's never been with anyone this long. Aramis realizes that Porthos is the reason for that. The one who made it possible. Porthos is loyal, is the thing. He's stubborn. He _likes_ Aramis. 

But all the other ones liked him, too. He never slept with a stranger. At least not at first. It was only after he'd left his home town that it started happening, and then he didn't have much of a choice. Still he tried to wait, tried to have a relationship first - tried his best to wait until he was in love, like he had been with the ones he'd fallen for before leaving home. Like Andy. 

Aramis takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, shakes his head to dislodge that particular memory. It's the weekend, and Porthos is still in bed. Aramis left him there two hours ago, unable to go back to sleep. He's made himself a cup of tea that went cold on the couch table while he stared out the window, watching the grey light of dawn creep over the frost-covered park. There's a hint of gold in it now, and Aramis thinks it might become a sunny day. A nice one. He wishes the cold lump in his stomach would go away. 

His eyes hurt from lack of sleep, seem to press back into his head, and he feels heavy, as if gravity was pulling at him with more dedication than usual. Still. Everything is fine. Nothing happened after all. 

There's a noise from the direction of the front door, and when Aramis turns his head to look, Porthos is leaning against the passage to the hallway, wearing pyjama pants and a soft grey cardigan, open at the front. He has his arms crossed in front of his chest, and he's watching him intently. 

Aramis summons a hasty smile. "Good morning. How long have you been standing there?" 

"Good morning, kitten," Porthos replies. "About ten minutes. Are you gonna tell me what's wrong?" 

The lump in Aramis' stomach jumps up to his throat and plunges back down, leaving ice cold havoc in its wake. "Nothing's wrong," he hears himself say. 

Porthos tilts his head and narrows his eyes, and then he moves, pushes off the wall to his right and walks towards Aramis, looking determined. Aramis isn't afraid, because he could never be afraid of Porthos, but he does get rather nervous. 

"Kitten," Porthos says, sitting down on the couch next to Aramis, "I don't think you realize what a horrible actor you are." 

Aramis pales and his eyes widen, and Porthos takes his hand. "You've been sad ever since the day you got that fancy new fabric to work with, and I'm a patient man, but I don't wanna watch you be sad anymore – not if I can help. Can I help?" 

Aramis bites his lip. He has no idea what to say. 

Porthos gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "Tell me what happened. Please." 

Aramis squeezes his eyes shut, and lets it all tumble out. "Constance asked me what happened to make me so happy the other day." He takes a deep, hasty breath. "I didn't want to tell her. Because if I told her, she'd _know_ , and I know it doesn't make any sense, but I don't want to tell anyone, because everyone always knew whom I was dating before, and it never worked out, and I never could explain why, and -" 

"Hey, hey, calm down, darlin'," Porthos murmurs, shifting closer to Aramis, taking him into his arms. "It's okay, slow down." 

Aramis presses closer to him, takes an unsteady breath. To his horror there are tears in his eyes, his throat is starting to constrict, and he really doesn't want to give Porthos more reason to despise him by turning this into a _scene_. 

"I don't know how to do this," he hears himself whisper, choking on tears. "I don't want to lose you." 

"You won't lose me," Porthos says immediately, leaning backwards and pulling Aramis with him, until he's cradling him against his chest, stroking his hands over Aramis' back. "You're doin' fine, I promise. You won't lose me." 

The softly spoken words sink into Aramis' conscience like a balm, enable him to take a somewhat steadier breath. "I know it's stupid. I'm so sorry." 

"You're not stupid," Porthos murmurs, brushing a kiss to Aramis' forehead. "You're scared, and I get why, I really do. But have you ever stopped to think that maybe the problem in all your other relationships wasn't you?" 

It's a completely new concept, and it rocks Aramis' world. "What?" 

"I mean you didn't tell me everythin' that happened, and I certainly don't know the details," Porthos says, his voice low and careful, "but I do know that you were sixteen when Andy happened, and I guess that you didn't have many relationships after him, yeah?" 

"None," Aramis confirms in a small little voice. "I mean I tried, after I moved out, and I had – there were … not really relationships." 

"One night stands?" Porthos hazards. 

Aramis nods, ashamed. "I never wanted them to be that," he whispers. 

Porthos holds him a little tighter. "That's just what I meant, kitten. It's not your fault. You gave yourself to those people wantin' somethin' lastin' – only they wanted nothin' but a bit of fun. Which is fine, as long as the other party is aware. You weren't aware, so they hurt you, possibly without meanin' to, but they still did." 

Aramis sniffs, feeling weak all over. 

"Fact of the matter is," Porthos clears his throat, "I want somethin' lastin'. So you don't have to be scared of me suddenly droppin' you like a hot potato. You know how I feel about potatoes." 

"You love them," Aramis murmurs, clinging to Porthos' sturdy shoulders underneath the fabric of his cardigan. 

"Specially with sour cream," Porthos confirms. "So even if I accidentally drop one, you can be sure as hell I'll pick it right back up. Wanna come back to bed now? Your tea's gone cold anyway." 

Aramis takes a deep breath, thinks about it. "I want to make breakfast," he whispers. "For Athos." 

"Snugglebun, you've been up since two in the mornin'," Porthos rumbles, every single word dripping patience like a honey-laden bee. "You're not makin' Athos breakfast. You're goin' back to bed. To Athos' bed, possibly, but definitely back to bed."


	3. Chapter 3

They go to bed. Not to Athos' but to Porthos', since Aramis doesn't want to wake Athos without the lure of breakfast on his side. He gets a few hours of sleep, with his face pushed against Porthos' neck, enveloped in a warm embrace. When he gets up for the second time that day he feels a little better than before, but his eyes are still heavy, and his head aches a little. 

Athos is in the kitchen when they round the corner to the living area, preparing coffee. He takes one look at Aramis' face and winces, transfers his gaze to Porthos. "You said you would talk to him." 

"I did," Porthos replies, putting his hand on Aramis' shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's all good now." 

"He does not look good," Athos argues, his voice heavy with concern. 

So Aramis starts to explain, while Porthos gently manoeuvres him onto the couch, feeling wretched for making them worry about him. Athos takes the armchair opposite from them, feels so very far away that it makes Aramis ache with the need to be close to him. Maybe that is why he stumbles over his own words – why he doesn't get very far before Athos interrupts him. 

"If you want me to," Athos says severely, "I would be happy to revert to how things were before." 

Aramis blinks, and his heart stutters out. There's a moment of horrible silence. 

"Really?" Porthos thunders then, roused to incredulous wrath. "That's what you take away from this?! Your idea of making Aramis feel better is to make him sad in a different way that's far WORSE?!" 

He's on the edge of the sofa, gripping the coffee table with both hands, and Aramis realizes that he might actually flip it. Porthos. Might. Flip the table. The very idea is so wonderfully ridiculous that for one glorious moment Aramis is unable to remember why Porthos is so very angry. 

"It is quite obviously my fault that Aramis is suddenly afraid of -" Athos starts then, only for Porthos to shout at him. 

"No it's _not_ you daft bugger! You're makin' him happy! That's the whole point! You're makin' him so very happy that he can barely take it!" He deflates suddenly, lets go of the coffee table and throws himself back against the sofa. "Why do you have to be like this? I mean you're obviously lyin'. You wouldn't be happy to _revert to how things were before_. You'd be miserable." 

He sounds frustrated, and exhausted, and Aramis doesn't give himself time to think. He moves closer to Porthos, puts his arms around him, and gives him a hug. "I'm sure he just wanted to help." 

"I know that," Porthos mutters sullenly. "I just don't see how him bein' sad instead of you is of any help at all. It would just make you sad to see him sad, _obviously_." 

Athos clears his throat. "I might not have thought this through." 

"You think?" Porthos growls. 

Athos vacates his armchair, steps over to the couch, and sits down on Porthos' free side, takes his hand. "I certainly did not mean to upset you." 

Porthos doesn't say anything in reply. 

Athos clears his throat once more, very delicately. "Would it, perhaps, make you sad as well if we, erm, reverted to how things were before?" 

Porthos glares at him. Athos smiles, leans in, and kisses him. Aramis bites his lip and holds his breath. It's just so beautiful. Every time Athos and Porthos kiss something inside him goes blip and his heart starts to soar. They are so tender with each other, so gentle and careful, and being able to witness such affection is almost as good as it is to be kissed himself. Maybe even better. This way he can watch without his brain shutting off, can take everything in without succumbing to his body's needs. 

It makes the air catch in his throat when Athos puts his hand on Porthos' cheek to tilt his head into a more favourable position. It makes shivers of warmth trickle over his back to see Porthos open his mouth just a little – to see Athos do the same. It's so _good_ , it drives Aramis a little mad. 

Then Porthos pulls back, looking somewhat dazed. 

"Aramis's the one you should be kissin' - not me," he rasps. 

Athos smiles again. "I was getting to that." 

He looks at Aramis then, the softest apology in his eyes. "Forgive me for my thoughtlessness." 

Aramis more or less falls onto his mouth when he leans in. 

His eagerness draws a chuckle out of Porthos, and then his hand is on Aramis' back, strokes up and down while they kiss across his lap. 

"See, Athos," he murmurs, moving his hand onto Aramis' neck. "See what a daft bugger you w-" 

Athos silences him by the simple means of pressing his mouth back to Porthos', inspiring Aramis to dissolve into breathless giggles. Porthos doesn't seem to mind. He's humming happily, giving Aramis' neck an encouraging squeeze when he continues to giggle into his shoulder, achieving a wonderfully breathless gasp. Athos straightens, looking pleased with himself. 

"You know you can't do that every time I'm callin' you names," Porthos says, very reasonable. 

"Try me," Athos drawls. 

"Daft bug-" Porthos obediently sets in, just for Athos to give him another peck on the lips. 

"I might take advantage of this," Porthos muses. 

"You will not," Athos informs him, settling down more comfortably by his side. 

He's still holding Porthos' hand, Aramis notices, suppressing a blissful sigh. 

"Oh I won't, eh?" Porthos teases him, lifting both brows, issuing a clear challenge. "Care to explain why?" 

"Because it would be unworthy of you," Athos says loftily. "Because I know you – and your conscious heart – and you would never do something to make me uncomfortable in public." 

"Who said anythin' about callin' you names in public? I never do that! Flea's the one who does that! Are you tellin' me you're gonna kiss her now too, because lemme tell you that Charon -" 

"Now you're being intentionally tiresome," Athos complains in wounded accents. "You know I would never do anything so crass as to kiss any of my friends when they are in a happy, monogamous relationship." 

Stunned silence follows his words, interrupted by Aramis' giggles. 

"That," Porthos says eventually, "was one hell of a lie. Anythin' else you wanna add? A solemn oath never to sleep in a bed containin' more than one person ever again maybe?" 

"Sounds reasonable," Athos nods. 

Porthos grunts in disgust. Athos appears to enjoy himself immensely. "Now that you mention it I should probably give you back all of the clothes I have taken from you over the years, too." 

Porthos eyes him mockingly. "That would leave you naked." 

Athos flushes ever so slightly. "There is that." He looks at Porthos through his lashes. "I might have to keep a few things." 

Porthos snorts. "You mean all of 'em." 

"I mean all of them," Athos confirms. 

"You're also gonna keep sleepin' in my bed," Porthos says. It sounds like an order. 

"Well if I keep the clothes anyway it would just be a waste of comfort and body heat to always sleep in my own bed," Athos reasons. 

Aramis puts his chin in his hands to keep all sounds of glee trapped inside his body and plays at being invisible. 

He _loves_ this is the thing. All of it. The banter and the easy camaraderie, the implicit trust and affection. Even if they weren't his romantic partners, he would still be happy beyond compare to call them his friends. 

"But I am not going to kiss Flea," Athos drawls, "no matter what you say." 

Porthos smirks. "I'd almost forgotten that you get like this when people ruffle your feathers. Me yellin' at you really got your blood goin', didn't it?" 

"For one preposterous moment I was afraid you were going to flip the table," Athos murmurs, looking at Porthos through his lashes again. "I was deadly afraid for my tea pot. You know how I feel about that tea pot." 

"Potatoes with sour cream," Porthos replies, nodding solemnly. 

Athos blinks at him, his eyes round with confusion. He appears to be rather thrown off his game by the unexpected mention of root vegetables in combination with dairy products. "I beg your pardon?" 

"God, I _love_ you," Aramis breathes before Porthos can explain himself, causing them both to look at him. He flushes scarlet, realizing what he just said, and his heart feels like it's trying to beat a hole out of his chest. 

"We love you too," Porthos says then, his voice heavy with sincerity. "Isn't that right, Athos." 

"Yes, it is," Athos confirms, reaching out to take Aramis' hand, causing another minor earthquake in Aramis' chest region. "We love you, Aramis. Dearly."


End file.
